Work of Their Hands

Embers glowed orange and vermilion below the heavy bottomed karahi. Spices sizzled and smoked, filling the small cyan concrete room with a pungent, nutty aroma. The woman of the house crouched on her haunches, slicing green chilies lengthwise on a knife protruding from the floor. Skillfully her fingers grasped the chilies, slid their flesh apart, and collected them in a bowl next to her bare toes. Her cochineal kurta dragged on the packed dirt floor as she turned from the chilies to the pile of papery shallots in a basket on the floor. Surrounding her were baskets full of okra and eggplant and bowls fresh sliced tomatoes and potatoes, each cut uniformly and meticulously. Looking into her wok-like karahi and sniffing the spices, she urgently sliced the allium and added it to the pan.

She rose from crouching on the floor, and peered into her pot, stirring vigorously without a slight cough from the smoking onions. Her sweat from the hot fire gathered quickly, and she wiped it from her face using her shaal. Opening her favorite jar of mango pickle, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet, spicy fragrance. This was an occasion fit for such a delicacy.

The clang of metal pounding metal was as frequent in her kitchen as the sizzle of potatoes in oil. Outside her door, a man worked with her husband shaping brass vessels for water and food. His sweat was as thick as hers, gathering on his shoulders, neck, and back as rhythmically he drummed the brass into a perfect cylinder. Like her knife protruding from the floor, a huge iron stake protruded from the earth and he maneuvered the basin, then banged it against the stake with his hammer. Rotating the brass over and over, he forged a large, sturdy container, removed it from the stake, and laid it to rest with the other pots he’d finished this week by the entryway.

The woman heaped out plates of rice, carefully added the mango pickle, and served her curries and dal in single bowls with ardor. Shooting in the indigo and lavender sitting room, I interviewed this family’s daughter. At only 23 she is a journalist and human rights activist, and is also studying in university. Over the clang of the metalwork, she explained softly in Nepali about becoming involved in human rights due to discrimination.

As she spoke about not being allowed in the kitchen of homes as a child, for fear she would pollute the food, her mother entered bearing heaping plates of rice and a smile that could warm Greenland. Putting the camera to the side, we accepted the food with bowed heads and empty stomaches.

More and more bowls arrived, and the woman of the house returned to fill our home made plates and water glasses. At that lunch both her parent’s work joined and synthesized a new story; one about the respect and reverence for foreign guests, one about the cooperation of family, and one about the work of their hands.

Spicy Vegan Eggplant with Tofu and Basmati Rice

Over the weekend Jes and I hosted two Nepali women from Jagaran Media Center at our guesthouse, one of whom is vegetarian.  I’ve been apprehensive about buying the sketchy fly-coated meat sold out of stall shops, so hosting a vegetarian was a new opportunity to try out tofu.  At 10 rupees, the price of tofu is hard to pass up and it’s the cheapest protein I’ve found next to dhal.  I served the eggplant with rice,  lime turmeric potatoes with carrots, with a side of papaya and mango fruit salad for a sweet finish.

Make the rice first.  For one cup of rice, use 1 2/3 cups of cold water.

First, put the pot on high and add a bit of oil (olive or safflower) to the bottom.  Add the rice to the hot oil, and saute until slightly translucent, about 2 minutes.  Add the cold water and bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for 15 minutes.  Remove from heat and let stand another 15-20 minutes.  Fluff with a fork before serving.

Eggplant:

3 small Asian eggplants, sliced longways then cut on a diagonal into 1 1/2 inch pieces.

1 cup (cube) firm tofu, sliced, diced, cut as you like

A bit of sesame oil

1 T chili powder- New Mexico is great.

Safflower oil or olive oil

1 c vege broth

2 T tomato paste

4 small or roma tomatoes, diced

1 bunch of fresh cilantro (coriander), chopped

For paste:

1 large shallot

1 thumb-sized piece of ginger

8-12 Indian green chilies (or serranos)

1 head of garlic

 

First, coat the sliced tofu with a bit of sesame oil.  Sprinkle with chili powder, and set aside while you chop everything else.

For the paste, it’s best to chop then use a food processor or mortar and pestle.  I didn’t have such a luxury, so just mashed everything the best I could and minced as finely as possible.

Fry the tofu in a tablespoon or so of safflower oil.  Don’t move it around much, browning it on all sides. If you have a wok, rockit.  Add a bit more chili powder while it’s cooking for some extra spice.   Pull it out of the oil and drain tofu on paper towels or in a sieve.

Next fry the chili paste until the onions become translucent and the flavors mingle well, 3-5 minutes.  Add a bit of extra oil while cooking- you’re going to use this same pan and oil for the eggplant.

Remove the chili shallot mixture, and add the eggplant.  Be careful not to overcrowd the pan, work in batches if you need to.  When the eggplant is slightly browned, add back the chilies and shallots, and add the tomato paste, cooking a few minutes more.  Add the cup of vegetable broth and cover, cooking for about 10 minutes, or until the eggplant is soft.  Add the tomatoes and fresh cilantro, season with salt and pepper.  Cook just a minute for the tomatoes to soften, and enjoy.

 

This dinner ended with a dancing to Stevie Wonder.  Spicy food + Nepali women + Stevie = Dance party?

All Peeled Fruit Salad with Ginger Lime Dressing

After a bout with Third World Flu from a Fecal Matter Platter (Nepali Lunch), I was ready for something simple, fresh, crisp, and most importantly sanitary. Since making this first fruit salad, I’ve had a variation each night and the few left overs along with toast for breakfast. Usually, I wouldn’t bother with a dressing for any fruit recipe, but unfortunately the apples, pomegranates, and mini-mangoes left much to be desired in the sweet department. Just stick with the key limes if your fruit is up to par.

All Peeled Fruit Salad with Ginger Lime Dressing

1 Apple, peeled
2 Mangos
4 Mini-Bananas
1/2 Pomegranate
2 Mini-Mangos
A few slices of fresh ginger (peeled)
2 Key Limes (the little ones)
1/2 c water
2T sugar or honey

On the stove, heat the water, sugar, and slices of fresh ginger. While the syrup is reducing, cut up all the fruit and mix together. Take the syrup off the heat and let it cool. Squeeze the key limes over the fruit, then top with the ginger dressing. Chill in the fridge for an hour, and enjoy.

Variations are endless of course, but fresh lychee really make this fruit salad rock. Papaya is also abundant from our fruit man and is often sold from carts on the street as an on-the-road snack. Papaya, mango, lychee and banana are a great combo, and don’t need the dressing at all.

Pistachio Ice Cream in a Sweet City

Pistachio ice cream is perhaps the greatest flavor of ice cream on this big blue ball. Usually, it’s messed up with some influx of almond and neon green coloring, fraught with unruly chunks of whole pistachios, making the perfect cone all the more precious. Since arriving in Nepal I’ve been scoping the best scoop very carefully – the diet here, especially desserts, are rich with dairy. As a lactard, this makes getting my sweet fix a bit more difficult, and makes me hyper selective with the bit of ice cream I will actually indulge in.

Yesterday, after an entire week of the, “I want ice cream” chant Jes is so familiar with, I pounced on a location that I’ve peeked at many times. ND’s, a second story restaurant on New Baneshwor, has tempted me with it’s city-wide advertising and large street-facing windows. After climbing the steps, I realized that ND’s sells more than just ice cream, offering greasy grub and a case of pastries and cakes. Little could grab my interest other than the coveted cone.

To my glee, the scoop was without ridiculous crunchy nuts, tasted like pistachio not almond, and was exactly what I’ve longed for. Kathmandu has a sweetness all of its own, and luckily it’s not just the ice cream.